by Trevor Negus
Mulberry Chambers, The Ropewalk, Nottingham
Sebastien Dawson was looking forward to his next meeting.
He always enjoyed pouring oil on troubled waters, and today he would definitely be doing that. He was about to make someone’s day, and he felt good about it.
As he heard the polite knock on his office door, he leaned back in the red leather captain’s chair. He coughed once and shouted, ‘Come in!’
The door opened a fraction. The fresh, young face of Freddie Fletcher peeked inside the office. Freddie was still a little in awe of the barrister’s clerk, and he had no idea why he had been summoned to his office.
With a confidence that belied his feelings of trepidation, the young barrister said, ‘You wanted to see me, Sebastien?’
Sebastien waved him inside and said, with his usual bluster, ‘Yes, I did, Freddie. Come inside and take a seat.’
Freddie Fletcher did as he was asked. He sat down in one of the two chairs on the other side of Dawson’s enormous desk.
He had only been at Mulberry Chambers for ten months and was still very much the new boy around the place. He knew his worth, though. He had graduated with a brilliant law degree from Oxford University and had completed his articles at one of the most prestigious law firms in York. Soon after finishing his articles in York, he had felt like he needed a change of scenery and direction. He had applied for and got the job at Mulberry Chambers. He knew that Mulberry was fast becoming one of the top law firms in the country. More importantly, he knew about their penchant for defending celebrity clients.
This was where Freddie Fletcher saw his future.
Ten years from now, he wanted to be the ‘go-to barrister’ for any so-called celebrity in trouble with the law. Be it an actor, pop star or footballer, they would all be asking for Freddie Fletcher to defend them in their moment of crisis.
That was all for the future. Right now, Freddie was only concerned about the reason he had been summoned, so urgently, to Dawson’s office.
The fat barrister’s clerk steepled his fingers over his ample stomach and said, ‘Now then, Freddie. How are you settling into Mulberry Chambers?’
‘I’m enjoying it so far. Nottingham’s a beautiful city, and my apartment in The Park is splendid. If I’m being brutally honest, the work could be a little more challenging. I had expected to be undertaking far more substantial briefs than the ones I’ve been allocated so far.’
Dawson allowed a huge smile to spread across his face.
He said, ‘Well, if that’s the case, I hope you’re going to be pleasantly surprised with the news I’ve got for you this morning.’
He paused, observing the young barrister’s reaction.
Always very quick on the uptake, Freddie said swiftly, ‘Do you have a new brief for me?’
Sebastien nodded. ‘I know it’s short notice, but I’d like you to take on the Denton Post Office robbery trial, in Manchester.’
‘I thought Rebecca Whitchurch was defending that client?’
‘Unfortunately, her current circumstances dictate she cannot be away from home and therefore can’t travel to Manchester.’
Freddie was starting to enjoy this meeting. He said with a smirk, ‘Ah, because of her errant teenage daughter doing another disappearing trick, I suppose?’
‘Yes, exactly that, Freddie. This is a very worrying time for Dominic and Rebecca. She feels unable to prepare properly for such a high-profile trial.’
Every cloud, thought Freddie.
He looked at Sebastien Dawson, gave his best look of concern and said, ‘As you say, it is very short notice, but I’d be more than happy to step into the breach. Where’s the brief and the rest of the trial documents?’
‘I’ve got the brief here.’
Hampered by his bulky frame, with a great deal of effort and struggle, Dawson leaned over the side of his chair. From the floor at the side of his desk, he retrieved a stack of papers tied with a dark pink ribbon.
He placed the heavy brief on his desk and said, ‘I’ll have all the other documentation sent to your office so you can start prepping. You’ll need to be in Manchester by tomorrow evening. That gives you all of today and most of tomorrow to do your prep. Is that going to be long enough?’
‘Yes, that’ll be fine. I’ll only prep for the first two days of the trial here. When I get to Manchester, I’ll prep at night as the trial develops. I prefer to work a trial that way anyway. You never know what’s going to turn up during the presentation of evidence by witnesses. Thank you so much, Sebastien. This is exactly the reason I came to Mulberry, good-quality case work.’
‘I thought you’d be pleased. Do a good job on this trial, and it will stand you in very good stead for future quality briefs. Make sure you grasp this opportunity, Freddie.’
‘Don’t worry, I intend to.’ He smirked slyly, winked and continued. ‘I do hope the young Whitchurch girl decides to extend her vacation.’
Sebastien’s avuncular mood changed instantly. He scowled from behind his glasses. ‘There’s no need for indelicate remarks like that. As I said before, this is an extremely worrying time for Dominic and Rebecca. Wait until you’re a father; maybe you’ll understand then. Comments like that are uncalled for and not in any way humorous.’
Realising he had overstepped the mark, Fletcher said quickly, ‘I do apologise, Sebastien; I was only being playful. Probably vulgar, and in poor taste, as you say. I’m sure the police will find the poor girl very soon. Meanwhile, I’d better make a start with all this prep.’
Sebastien had instantly changed his opinion of the bright young lawyer sitting in front of him. He could now see there was something distinctly unpleasant and rather nasty about Freddie Fletcher.
Trying to hide the scowl that had replaced his earlier smile, he said, ‘I’ll get one of the secretaries to book you a hotel in Manchester for the duration of the trial.’
‘Thanks. Would you mind asking them to book me a first-class rail ticket as well? Driving into Manchester these days is a bloody nightmare.’
‘Consider it done. I’ll also arrange for a courier to make sure all the documents you’ll need for the trial arrive safe and sound. We don’t need anything to go missing on a bloody train.’
Freddie stood up, picked the heavy brief up from the desk, and said, ‘Thank you so much for considering me, Sebastien. I won’t let you down.’
Dawson replied curtly, ‘I’m sure you won’t. Good luck.’
Fletcher closed the door behind him and walked down the hallway, towards his own office.
He was beaming from ear to ear.
He had noticed the mood change in Dawson after his quip about the girl being missing. He chastised himself for being careless with his comments. He told himself that he needed to take more care when making such acerbic remarks.
He chuckled and said quietly to himself, ‘Thank you so much, Emily darling. I’m begging you, please don’t stay away from home too long.’
He planned to prep for the rest of the day, then go into Nottingham that evening to celebrate his good fortune properly.
He planned on asking Felicity, the gorgeous brunette who worked in admin, if she fancied helping him celebrate his good fortune. He had been told, by another of the younger barristers in Chambers, that Felicity was always up for a night on the town, drinking copious amounts of champagne.
He closed the door of his small windowless office, sat down at his desk and pulled at the dark pink ribbon on the brief. He smiled as he began reading the documents.
He loved it when a plan came together.
25
12.30pm, 6 October 1986
The Arboretum, Nottingham
Darren Treadgold slumped onto the wooden park bench.
He had caught the bus from Maid Marian Way to Clarendon Street. He hadn’t realised that the walk from the bus stop on Clarendon Street, alongside the old cemetery and into The Arboretum, was a gradual uphill incline.
He was now sweating profusely and
badly out of breath.
He placed the brown paper bag containing his three Big Mac burgers and paper cup full of hot latte coffee onto the bench beside him. He would need to get his breath back properly before he could enjoy his lunch.
It was a bit of a pain to get here during his lunch hour. He needed the greenery and the peace and quiet today.
He had some serious thinking to do about his situation.
Things weren’t going the way he had envisioned. He was now seriously worried about what to do next.
He still couldn’t quite believe how easy it had been to carry out the first part of his plan. It had been a foul, inclement afternoon when he had gone stalking the streets after finishing his shift at the fast-food restaurant.
He had only been driving around for about ten minutes when he had spotted the girl in her school uniform. She was walking alone on Mount Hooton Road, alongside the Forest Recreation Ground. She had been soaking wet and looked totally miserable. Her long blonde hair was wet and sticking to her school blazer. She had no raincoat. He had driven alongside her and stopped the car. He had then wound the window down a little and asked if he could give her a lift, out of the rain.
He had never in a million years expected her to get in the car. But she had leapt at the chance to get out of the driving rain. The girl had immediately apologised to him, saying, ‘Sorry for making your car seats wet. Could you drop me off near the bus stops on Mansfield Road, please?’
Not quite able to believe his luck, he had quickly said, ‘No problem. Don’t worry about the seats. They’ll soon dry. I need you to fasten your seatbelt, though.’
As the girl had turned to fasten the seatbelt, he grabbed the chloroform-soaked cloth from the compartment in the driver’s door. Before she could turn back to face him, he had clamped the damp cloth across her nose and mouth.
She had let out a small squeal, then quickly fell unconscious. He held the cloth over her face for a full minute before risking driving off. Satisfied that she was totally unconscious, he had used plastic tie wraps to bind her wrists and ankles. He had then forced her down into the passenger footwell so she was out of sight.
Now, as he sat on the park bench, he shuddered at the thought of his hands touching the bare skin on her wet legs.
He leaned back on the bench and closed his eyes, relishing that delicious thought.
As he thought back to that night, he remembered how nervous he had felt when he arrived at his father’s house in West Bridgford. He had been so relieved to find the old man was already in bed, asleep.
It had been an arduous task to carry the still unconscious girl up two flights of stairs, to the third floor of the house. He had been out of breath and had to stop twice to get his breath back. Finally, he had carefully laid her down onto the old mattress in the attic.
In his mind’s eye, he could still see her lying on her back on the mattress. Her short skirt had ridden up on her wet thighs, exposing the merest flash of white panties.
He had resisted the temptation to touch the girl and had simply turned her onto her side. The last thing he had wanted was for her to choke before she came around. He had stood in the darkness staring at her for over an hour before she had started to stir. He had then quickly cut the tie wraps from around her ankles but had left her wrists bound. He then left the attic, securing the door with a padlock.
The sound of two children laughing as they ran past snapped him from his reverie.
He opened his eyes and stared after the squealing children as they ran by. His breathing had returned to normal, so he reached down for the brown paper bag.
A mouth-watering smell of fried onions, relish and pickles wafted from the bag as he opened it. He quickly devoured two of the Big Mac burgers before greedily gulping down most of the warm coffee. He smacked his lips, belched loudly and then demolished the third of the burgers before finishing the coffee.
He wiped his greasy hands on the brown paper bag before screwing it up and hurling that, and the empty paper cup, into the waste bin.
Feeling satisfied, he leaned back on the hard wooden bench. Having eaten, he needed time to think now. There had been some encouragement, a glimmer of hope, the night before. When the girl had finally allowed him to touch her.
Even then, it hadn’t been as wonderful as he had imagined it would be. She had sat there, unmoving, paralysed with fear. As he groped her, he could feel her trembling. That wasn’t what he had planned, what he wanted.
He needed the girl to participate, to enjoy it as well, or it was no good. Maybe he should try smoking a little weed in the attic with her and see if that relaxed her as much as it had done in the squat. He discounted that idea, as his father would be downstairs. The old man was bound to smell it and create a fuss.
Suddenly, an idea burst into his brain.
It was such a simple notion that he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. In just five days’ time, his father was due to go on a day trip to Matlock. The trip had been organised by the local Age Concern group. The old man would be away from the house all day.
Darren Treadgold was smiling broadly now. As soon as he got back to work, he would alter the duty roster to make sure he was off work that day.
In his mind, he was already planning the day’s events.
As soon as his father had been picked up by the Age Concern volunteers, he would spend the morning with the girl in the attic, smoking dope. If it had the same effect as it had in the squat, the drug would relax the girl enough to let her enjoy him touching her. If she were totally relaxed, who knows where it would end.
In Darren’s mind, he was already making love to the girl on the mattress.
He now had a huge grin on his face.
He continued smiling as he stood up from the park bench and waddled his way back towards Clarendon Street, to catch the bus back into town.
He would keep the girl fed and watered without making any further attempts at touching her. He hoped that by doing that, she would get used to him and not fear him so much.
He could wait another five days, no problem.
The young girl with the long, blonde hair would soon be his to enjoy in that very special way.
26
10.30pm, 6 October 1986
Nottingham City Centre
The champagne had been flowing steadily, and Freddie Fletcher was more than a little tipsy. He’d met Felicity Spencer, as arranged, in Champagne Charlie’s Bar in the fashionable Hockley area of the city, at eight o’clock. He had ordered bottle after bottle of Bollinger, Grande Annee, ever since.
As the third bottle was drained, Freddie declared loudly, ‘Same again!’
Felicity was also starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. She shook her head at Freddie. ‘No more for me, darling. If I have one more glass of bubbly, I’ll be totally pissed!’
‘Oh, come on, Fliss! I thought you were a sport. You’ve got to help me celebrate getting this brief. What could be a more appropriate celebration than drinking vintage champagne in the company of a very beautiful woman?’
Felicity was flattered by the compliment from the slim, blonde-haired, handsome barrister. She giggled and said, ‘Why, thank you, kind sir!’
‘Does that mean yes to another bottle of bubbly?’
‘Oh, go on then, Freddie! But you’d better make sure I get home okay.’
‘Don’t worry about that, darling. You can always crash at my apartment in The Park. I don’t mind sleeping on the sofa; it’s very comfortable.’
He winked and smiled at the young secretary.
She grinned and said seductively, ‘That sounds like a plan. So long as you promise to stay on that sofa and behave yourself. I’m not that kind of girl.’
Freddie held up three fingers of his right hand and declared loudly, ‘Scout’s honour! Trust me, Fliss, after another bottle of bubbly, I won’t be capable of stealing your virtue even if I wanted to.’
He roared with laughter and shouted above the din, ‘Bartender
! Another bottle of Bolly over here! Quick as you can!’
They were sitting in a private booth, just away from the main bar. Now that it was getting later, the clientele had thinned out a little. The lights were low and the music soft. It was the perfect place for young professionals to unwind and relax. There were two huge bouncers working the door of Champagne Charlie’s, and admission was strictly controlled. The management only wanted clientele who would spend big and conduct themselves properly. A couple of times during the evening, when Freddie had got a little too boisterous and loud, one of the doormen had come over and had a quiet word with the overexuberant barrister.
Freddie was enjoying himself. He wasn’t going to let being bollocked by some gorilla in a dinner jacket spoil his night. He was pleased he had asked Felicity to join him. She was an extremely pretty girl. The tight black leather trousers and clinging peppermint green mohair jumper she wore for the night out accentuated what a fabulous body she had.
Freddie knew she wasn’t the brightest, but she had a fabulous sense of humour and was great fun. His ego was also relishing the envious looks he was getting from other punters in the bar. He knew every other man in the bar would have loved to have been in her company.
While they waited for the next bottle to arrive at their table, Freddie leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially, ‘You do know why I’m celebrating, don’t you, Fliss?’
‘Yes, Freddie. Old man Dawson gave you the brief for the Manchester robbery.’
His speech became slightly slurred as he whispered back, ‘That’s only partly right, sweet girl. The real reason is not so much that I’m doing it; it’s more because that bitch Rebecca Whitchurch isn’t doing it.’
He rocked his head back and roared with laughter.
Felicity shook her head and said, ‘Yeah, but if her daughter hadn’t run off somewhere, Rebecca would still be doing it.’
‘That’s so very true, Fliss darling. Sad, but very true.’